


"That's Cemetery Talk"

by musicmillennia



Series: "I can afford a blemish on my character, but not on my clothes." [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Intro fic, M/M, Meta-Humans are Still a Thing though, Nate Becomes Steel, Sorcerers, Urban Fantasy, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: "It's a simple yes or no question, Mr. Heywood: is your boyfriend Family-affiliated?""Well, I know he's got a brother. I've never met his parents, but that seems for the best. Not really close, y'know?" (title quote from Brute Force)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prouvairablehulk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/gifts).



> The first part is done, yaaaaay! Thought I'd bring some steelatom in for the introduction. These one-shots are gonna be pretty unrelated to each other, but this fic kinda sets a couple pieces of foundation in place.

Ray Palmer is the best thing that's ever happened to Nate Heywood since Nate finally got his grubby hands on his degree and his grandfather's prized dog tags. Not only is Ray brilliant in both mechanical engineering and science, he's also tall, dark and handsome with a smile that could warm every heart in the vicinity.  _And_ he listens when Nate talks,  _and_ he nerds out with him,  _AND_ he's a hopeless romantic. Hands down most supportive relationship Nate could have.

So when Nate is put in an interrogation room and asked by a grim-faced officer if his wonderful boyfriend is part of the mafia, he drinks the coffee in front of him and keeps his mouth shut. Even when he knows the answer is unequivocally yes.

Because, despite―or maybe because of―Ray's genius-level intellect, he can be a little bit careless sometimes. Making friends with the next-door neighbor cop, Nate can understand as a solid strategy, but around their apartment...well.

Let's just say that accidentally finding Leonard Snart's requests for cold gun upgrades among very specific schematics in his notes because Ray left the folder on the coffee table where Nate could easily mix them up with  _his_ notes doesn't really faze Nate. Although Nate supposes he could've reacted better when he bumped into that cop neighbor and spilled his and Ray's papers everywhere. A resigned sigh when faced with the Don of Central and Keystone Cities' hand-writing probably wasn't the way to go.

But Nate's record's clean. He knows it. After a couple grueling hours, the cops know it too. When asked that question, he did answer, "No, they don't belong to me." And they can go screw themselves if they think Nate's turning Ray in.

No offense to the fine people of the Central City Police Department.

Detective West sighs. "I'm gonna ask you again: is your boyfriend, Ray Palmer, a member of the Rogues?"

Nate thinks back to last week, when Ray was sleeping off another "late night at the lab." The couch had been lumpy. After a few seconds of fumbling around, Nate found the culprit to be The Atom's signature black and red-tinted goggles. The Atom being one of the Rogues' elite members, part of their supernatural branch.

Nate says, "I'm glad I decided against trying my mother's mac n' cheese recipe. My apartment would've burned down by now."

West sighs again. "It's a simple yes or no question, Mr. Heywood: is your boyfriend Family-affiliated?"

Nate thinks about the time he found The Atom's dwarf star-powered titanium alloy Glock behind the washing machine.

He scrunches his nose and replies, "I know he's got a brother. I've never met his parents, but that seems for the best. Not really close, y'know?"

" _Mr. Heywood_."

"Call me Nate, please. We've been spending so much time together, Detective West. And I like to make new friends!"

West rubs his forehead. "Whatever misplaced loyalty you have in this guy isn't gonna hold up. If he hasn't told you yet, he's not gonna bail you out now. So just tell us: is Ray Palmer a member of the Rogues?"

Nate takes another drink of his coffee. Smiles at the Detective.

"Does this folder," West taps the thick blue manila between them, "belong to him?"

He's not gonna get Nate. Nate is made of  _steel_. He can do this all day. Yeah, that's right.

West shakes his head. "Alright, fine. You asked for it. I'll go talk to my partner."

Ah, the Bad Cop is coming. Nate forces himself to relax in his seat.

He is terrified. And he is made of steel. Terrified steel. That's him.

A woman enters soon after Detective West leaves. She's not wearing a badge and she's holding an ominous-looking briefcase. Also, definite murder walk.

Really Bad Cop, then. Steel, Nate.  _Steel_.

The woman holds out her hand. "Mr. Heywood, my name is Laurel Lance. I'm your lawyer."

Nate blinks. Shakes her hand. "Oh. So, not Bad Cop."

Ms. Lance's professional murder breaks into a brief smile. "Not Bad Cop. In fact, I am damn good at what I do."

As she sits across from him, Nate looks around and asks, "Do they know you're here, or...?"

"Regardless, I  _am_ here, and you'll be getting out of this with a full apology within the hour."

A blond man barges in, full Bad Cop. He stops short when he sees Ms. Lance.

Next thing he knows, Nate's practically having a full-body experience. It's like the shadows in the room get thicker, creeping up Halloween-fog style up the walls. The temperature fluctuates violently, and Nate's not sure if the hissing cries is from his growing panic or the darkness, but he's breaking out in a cold sweat, pressure building in his chest―it's power, controlled chaos. Every fight or flight instinct in Nate is screaming in the face of it.

Ms. Lance says, "I will be convening with my client now."

The man, who looks as out of it as Nate feels, backpedals out of the room.

And just like that, the room is once again dull, and Ms. Lance's smile is warm.

Nate's damn good lawyer opens her suitcase with two brisk clicks. "So, Nate Heywood. Let's get you out of here."

"Yeah," Nate squeaks.

 

Ray's waiting for him right outside the precinct, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking guilty.

"Thanks, Laurel," he says to Ms. Lance.

She puts on a pair of sunglasses and replies, "The number?"

Ray gives her a piece of paper.

Ms. Lance grins. "We're even."

She shakes hands with Nate one more time and then just...walks away.

Ray yanks Nate into a crushing hug. "I am so,  _so_ sorry I didn't call her sooner! I thought you were at the library, but then you weren't answering my texts and―"

"They kept the folder," Nate says, "evidence and stuff."

Ray stiffens. "Right." He pulls back. His eyes focus somewhere on Nate's shoulder. "I. I suppose you want an explanation."

"I was in there for four hours," Nate says, "so yeah. I'd like that. But I'd also like a shower and my favorite tea. With the rest of the leftover baked ziti from last night."

Ray blinks at him. The corners of his lips lift just a little.

"Yeah," he says, "that's fair."

 

Once Nate's showered and has his lunch in front of him with a comfy pair of sweats, Ray sits next to him at the table and fidgets.

Nate lets him stew for a bit. Four hours is a long time when you're stuck at a police station. Besides, tea and baked ziti?  _Great_ combination. One that deserves to be savored.

When Nate's halfway through his meal, Ray clears his throat.

"I told you I work in a lab. And that's true, but...I may have left out a few details."

And Nate just can't stay mad at him. The things we do for love.

He leans against his stupid, wonderful boyfriend. "Ray. I know."

Ray buries his face in his hands. "Yes, what I did was wrong, and I am so sorry! It's just that―" his head snaps up. "Wait, what?"

Nate shakes his head. "Hiding your gun behind the washing machine? Not a great plan. Also, I know The Atom brags a lot to the media about how tough his equipment is, but I'm pretty sure his goggles don't belong under someone's ass. The couch babe? Really? And then there's the part where you shoved your very well-known uniform under the dirty clothes in the hamper, like, I know I forget to do laundry, but I  _do_ do it. Also―"

Ray takes his hand. "You're okay with this," he whispers, beautiful eyes all wide and full of hope and disbelief.

Nate grins. "Am I okay with my boyfriend being a member of the mafia and a badass sorcerer? At first, I wasn't sure. But I love you, and being part of a vast criminal empire is what you do, not who you are."

"That is so sweet I might just stab someone," a voice says.

Nate yelps, careening into Ray, who, probably by virtue of being a criminal, catches him while not looking surprised  _at all_ about the woman in white leaning against the fridge.

"Sorry," she says, "am I interrupting?"

Nate grips Ray's arm. "Please tell me she's part of the mafia. And I never thought I'd say that."

The woman grins. "There's two of you now? Family's gonna have a field day."

"Hey, Sara!" Ray chirps. "Guess what? Nate's okay with it! He's totally okay with it!"

"I'm totally okay with it," Nate says, "so, like. Don't kill me."

Sara waves him off. "I'm not gonna kill you. My sister spent all that time breaking you out. She'd be pissed."

"You sister?" Oh. Oh! Nate gapes. "That badass lawyer's your sister?!"

"Yep."

"So...do you have that shadowy thing?" Nate wiggles the fingers of his free hand, "Like, y'know, the...the shadows and stuff?"

Sara's eyes narrow. "You can see those?"

"What? Yeah, of course I can see them. Kinda hard to miss."

Ray side-hugs him. "He's okay with it!" (aaand he'll probably be saying that for the rest of the day.)

Nate holds out his hand. "Nate Heywood."

Sara shakes it. "White Canary."

"White Cana―but you're supposed to be a legend!"

Sara winks. "Glad to hear."

"No, seriously!" Nate leans forward as much as his Ray-sized octopus will allow. "Ever since I found out about Ray, I've been doing some digging―just surface stuff, nothing big. But while people claim there's a White Canary that rules the Rogues with Leonard Snart and Mick Rory, nobody's seen them. Nobody. You're like, a ninja!"

Sara makes a flourish with her arms. "Ta-da. And Len likes the whole supervillainy nicknames, so don't be afraid to use 'em."

Nate knows he's giving her a bad case of starry-eyes, but.  _White Canary_. His boyfriend's in the mafia and he knows White Canary. And here he was gonna spend the day in a coffee shop researching Shōgun!

"So wait. If you're not here to kill me, what's going on?" he asks.

Sara―White Canary,  _the_ White Canary―gives him a half-smile. "Just checking in on how the big reveal was going. I'm sure Ray can answer any questions you might have, but there's a limit to what he can tell you."

"But he's okay with it!" Ray says.

"Ray. Discretion."

She has no idea just how indiscreet Ray's been, has she?

Well, if Ray didn't tell, Nate's not gonna be the one to do it. He still thinks he might get murdered, no matter what Sara says.

But questions. Nate can ask questions now.  _Finally_.

"Does Captain Cold really make that many puns? Can Weather Wizard fly? Do you guys have a secret lair? I'm assuming you have a secret lair, but as a historian, I try to make a habit not to assume. And is it true that Killer Frost is a scientist? Is Heatwave―"

Sara gives both men a big smile. "Ray."

Ray rests his cheek on Nate's shoulder. He's still wrapped around him, going so far as to sway them a little from side to side.

"Yeah?" he says.

Sara nods. "Keep him."

Nate rapidly smacks Ray's elbow. "I got the White Canary's approval!" he hisses, "Did you hear that?"

Sara shakes her head and turns on her heel. "See you around, Nate."

She called him by his first name. Totally worth the four hours in the police station just for that.

Nate tenses. "Wait! The schematics for Captain Cold's gun!"

Sara scoffs. "Already taken care of."

Oh. Right. Mafia.

After the door closes, Ray murmurs, "You're okay with it."

Nate snorts. He puts his head on Ray's. "Yeah, Ray. I'm okay with it...but you still owe me for those four hours. Baked ziti and herbal tea only makes up for an hour and a half,  _tops_."

What? Mafia affiliations aside, Ray is loaded. The baked ziti are herbs he can get are the  _best_.

Ray finally extracts himself to take both of Nate's hands. "Definitely fair."

 

Nate is positively  _spoiled_. Museum tours, concert tickets,  _including Hamilton_ , and all of his favorite foods in the fridge are showered on him like  _Flashdance_. On top of that, Ray tells him all he can about the Rogues while at the same time pulling strings so Nate can get access to priceless manuscripts.

It's  _awesome_. And it feels great. At last, Nate and Ray can really relax around each other, which just makes things even better.

One night, after some great sex (which has somehow gotten better since the Big Reveal), Ray cuddles him and hands him a bowl of sliced honeycrisp apples while Nate opens Netflix. (They're not going to put on a movie while having sex―they both agree that both deserve to be enjoyed at their own separate times.)

Ray asks, "Could you really see Laurel's shadows?"

Nate takes a slice. "Yeah? Like I said, they were kinda hard to miss."

"Huh."

"Why? Was I not supposed to see them?" Nate shoots up. "Does that mean I'm gonna die in seven days or something?!"

Ray pulls him back against their unfairly plush pillows with a smile. "First of all, it's been three weeks. Second, I was just asking because only people with magic in them can see the shadows. Everybody else just gets a very bad feeling."

"Yeah," Nate grumbles, "no kidding." He looks at Ray. "But I don't have any magic. Like, at all."

"Your grandfather did, right?" Ray asks.

"That wasn't hereditary, though. He was hit with it on-mission, and it didn't pass to my dad."

"Could still be latent. And there's a theory that when you're exposed to magic in close proximity for a long time, you can get a couple benefits."

Nate snorts. "I guess I've been _pretty_ close to magic for a while. Even though you haven't cast any spells around me."

Ray tilts his head. "If I did, would I make up the last few minutes of those four hours?"

He already has. Nate's just seeing how long he would keep it up. He likes to be spoiled.

"Sure."

Ray beams. "Alright! What do you want to see."

Yes. _Yes_. "The shrinking thing."

"That I can do. Hang on."

Ray scrambles out from under the sheets. Without preamble, he just sort of...breathes out, and a second later there's a tiny guy waving both arms at Nate.

Take it from Nate: it's awesome.

 

Nate's already tried asking if he could meet Captain Cold, just as Ray has already told him with sincere regret that he can't.

But apparently Snart can call him.

Nate's just exiting the library when it happens. It's around dinnertime, and he's ready to go home and get a shower. At first, he thinks the number belongs to another stupid government survey, but he answers it in case there's actually a human on the other side.

He makes the right call.

"Hello?"

"Nate Heywood?"

Unlike his Rogues, Leonard Snart doesn't bother to hide his identity. Not only is he a mob boss, he's one of the Flash's supervillains. So yeah, Nate recognizes his voice.

"Um, uh," Nate swallows, "I, hello. Sir. Um. I guess it's sort of a moot point if I ask how you got my number?"

"Smart," Snart says. "Ray tells me you're a historian, and a competent one. I have a question for you."

Nate clears his throat. "Ye―uh, yeah, yeah sure." Damn it, Nate,  _be cool_. "I'm a great historian, Captain. What do you need?"

"Captain?" Snart says, "Cute. What do you know about Jonah Hex?"

Nate stops in the middle of the sidewalk. "Jonah Hex? Like, 1800's Jonah Hex?"

"Yes."

"Only that he was one of the best bounty hunters in the Wild West. He lived in Calvert, Oklahoma for a while, but it was attacked and destroyed by an outlaw named Quentin Turnbull. Hex eventually caught up to him, but he did the honorable thing and turned him in to the authorities instead of exacting revenge. He's known for some pretty intense scars on his face and, well. Really nice coats."

"How did he die?"

"Well, that's just it. Nobody knows what happened to him. Around 1880, he was chasing a bounty, but he never showed up with it. Guy who hired him tried chasing him down, but he was nowhere to be found. It's one of the great mysteries of the Old West."

"I see."

Nate fiddles with his messenger bag. "Why do you want to know?"

A pause. "Word of advice, Heywood: if you want to keep restoring manuscripts and researching for that paper on Judeo-Christian artifacts, you don't ask that kinda question."

Nate gulps. "Right."

"One more thing." Snart sounds almost amused. "Give a message to Ray: more flames."

"Can't you just...send him a text or something?"

"You ask a lotta questions."

Nate starts. "Uh, yeah, I'll―I can do that. More flames. Got it."

"Good."

A click, and Nate's left staring at his phone.

What does Snart want more flames for?

 

When he gets the message, Ray is  _very_ happy.

" _Snart_ told you to send me a message?" he says.

"Yeah," Nate replies, "and he asked about this guy named Jonah Hex."

"I told him you wrote a paper on him."

"You what?"

Ray blinks. "You're my boyfriend. Of course I'm gonna talk about you."

Nate gapes at him. "You...talk about me...with  _Leonard Snart_?"

Ray grins. "Yeah! I talk about you with all my friends. All good things, don't worry."

" _Um_ ―"

"More flames! Got it. More flames..."

Nate tries calling after him to ask why Captain Cold would want more flames, but Ray's already scurrying off to his home lab.

Okay then.

 

Nate gets another call a little over a week later, on a Saturday morning.

"Ray filled my request early," Snart says.

Nate, who's lounging in Captain America pajamas watching Loony Tunes, shoots up and pauses Bugs Bunny mid-chew.

"Well, uh," he says, wide eyes snapping to Ray next to him, "boyfriend privileges, I guess."

'Snart!' he mouthes. And Ray lights up.

"Tell me, Heywood, did Jonah Hex have a partner?"

"A partner? Um..." think, think, think! "Oh! He did, actually. It wasn't for long, but I managed to piece together rumor and speculation and find a few Wanted posters of a face next to Hex's. Took me months, but I got it."

"Good for you," Snart deadpans. "That partner have a name?"

"From what I gathered, he was only called Hunter."

A hum. "I see. Either of them a supernatural?"

"Supernatural?" Nate swallows. "I...I don't know. Back then, they were the stuff of legend, so even if one of them was, I...I mean, Hunter  _maybe_ , just by how suddenly he appears and disappears, but I―"

"Alright, don't hurt yourself."

"Are...you gonna hurt me for not knowing?"

Ray puts an arm around him. He's shaking his head the same time Snart answers, "No."

Nate can't help blowing out a long sigh. "Okay. That's good."

"I'd imagine so. I expect Ray in two hours."

Click.

Nate doesn't realize he's shaking until Ray takes his hand and kisses his head.

"You did great," Ray says.

"Yeah," Nate croaks, " _great_. He uh...he expects you in two hours."

Ray squeezes him tight. "Normally he'd tell me to 'get my ass over there'. He likes you."

Nate hopes that's a good thing. He wonders if all boyfriends have this much trouble with their s/o's boss.

 

Snart keeps asking about Hex and Hunter. Nate reviews his own research and tries digging deeper, dreading the day he won't be able to answer other questions.

Nate notices that Snart uses three different numbers to call him. About a month and a half into this, he saves them under different names, using generic names as a cover. He's not stupid, after all.

One day, he gets kidnapped. Black bag, rough handling, gun on his back, the whole shebang.

Nate's developed a mantra for stressful situations like these.  _Your boyfriend's in the mafia. You can handle this. Your boyfriend's in the mafia. You can handle this._

Because, apparently, knowing Ray is a criminal sorcerer and is interested in law-abiding Nate Heywood can be a real confidence boost. And surprisingly very conducive for work ethic, since Ray deals with  _way_ more stress than him on a daily basis, so he can definitely finish reading that article.

Also, it's likely that Ray's mafia affiliations got Nate into this. He's pretty confident Ray's gonna get him out.

Just be cool, Nate. Cool as Cold. Be a glacier. A glacier of steel. Yes.

A gruff voice snarls, "You were an easy target. Either you're new, or we got a bad lead. You better hope you're worth somethin' to Snart, pretty boy."

A terrified glacier. Of steel. Yep.

 

Nate's been tied to this chair for almost an hour, but he's surprisingly comfortable. Instead of an abandoned warehouse or some sinister basement, he's sitting in front of a polished mahogany desk in a cushioned chair, surrounded by wealth in paneled walls and furniture from what looks to be the 1920's. There's even a fancy grandfather clock in the corner, tick-tocking away.

A woman in a cherry red business suit sits at the desk, brown hair tied in a perfect bee's nest. Her features are pointed, almost elfish, but Nate can tell from her translucent dragonfly wings that that's not entirely accurate. She's been writing and writing, without a glance at her prisoner.

To reiterate, it's been almost an hour. Nate can't keep it in any longer.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me why I'm here?" he asks.

The fairy's sharp eyes stare him down until he sinks back as much as the ropes will allow. His bonds are definitely magic; he can practically feel how thick it is. Humans know a threat when it's grating on their skin.

"As always, your kind has no patience," the fairy says, "but I'm in a generous mood, so I'll humor you. You're here because Snart had the nerve to swindle me. If he wants your life, he'll pay up. I've given him a deadline and no way of intruding here without my knowledge, so he can't mount a rescue his way."

"And if it turns out I'm not that valuable?" Nate asks, even though he knows very well what the answer will be and is terrified that it's going to come true, because. Well. All he does is answer a few questions and pass messages. His only hope is Ray caring about him enough to try rescuing him from a powerful fairy's modern hovel.

"You die," the fairy says, "and we target another Rogue."

Oh shit. Nate's not even a Rogue. He's the boyfriend of a Rogue. Oh  _shit_ , he needs a new mantra.

The fairy's eyes narrow. "Your composure is deplorable."

Nate swallows. "Just thinking of how mad the boss is gonna be."

"Mhm." Her manicured nail presses on an intercom. "Open the gates."

Nate opens his mouth, but she's already shot him. The bullet lodges right in his abdomen, sending sparks of pain throughout his torso like pop rocks.

As he coughs up blood, his captor stands, straightens her suit, and says, "I've been at this a while, Mr. Heywood. I know when someone is lying to me."

Nate looks up at her. Knowing he's about to die gives him enough confidence to spit out, "Obviously not, if Snart swindled you."

She shoots him in the shoulder and leaves.

All Nate can think of is,  _Please let me see Ray one more time._

Outside, the fairy screams.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me."  _Snart_. Snart?

Somebody's untying the ropes, but Ray. Ray's here.

"No," he's whispering, "no, no, no, no..."

Nate wheezes. "Not your fault."

Ray rips off his goggles. "How is this not my fault?! Never mind." He rips open Nate's shirt.

Nate spares him a pained smile. "Don't think this is the time for that, Ray."

A quiet snort behind him. Ray snaps, "Not funny! We have to fix you!"

"Ray..."

Two sets of bootfalls, one light, one heavy.

"Hemophiliac," Snart says, "normally, we could have fixed you up with some protective wards, stronger than the ones Ray put in for you." What? "But we can't do that with  _this_."

Rory stands at Snart's side, eyes manic and glowing midnight blue. Snart himself looks grave; even without the parka, he seems to fill the whole room.

The person behind Nate finally speaks: "The safest way to help you now," _Sara_ , "is to get the bullets out and give you a shot of raw magic. It might take, it might not. Either way...it's gonna be very painful."

Nate coughs more red. " _That's_ the safest? Great."

"Your other options," Snart says, "are to die and be cast into Sara's waters, which will fill your soul with the pain of a millennia, or I try to turn you and you almost certainly die."

Nate grunts. "Raw magic."

"Thought so."

Ray kisses Nate's forehead. "I'll be right here. I promise."

Sparks whisper at Nate's ear. "I know."

"Get the bullets out," Sara orders.

Nate closes his eyes and pictures his grandfather. The one who absorbed magic and survived, the one who had steel courage and a gun that never missed. Nate keeps coming back to steel. It's what he pictures next. Raw steel, refined steel, steel skyscrapers, steel covering every inch of his skin to shield him from―

Pain.

 

Nate wakes up feeling shiny and new.

He's literally shiny too.

And warm.  _Really_ warm.

Wow, this room is like something out of a Radcliffe novel. There's even a storm outside the diamond pane windows.  _Nice_.

It takes Nate a few seconds to register that he's not dreaming, that his skin really is metallic and the warmth is from a bunch of people lying on top of and around him. A few of which are  _wolves_.

Before he can shout, someone beside him tightens their hold and whispers, "It's okay. You're alive."

Nate turns to Ray. "What happened to me?"

Ray smiles. "Raw magic. I gave you some of mine. I was born from dwarf star, so it was easy to let some of that into you."

"There are  _wolves_."

"Pack initiation," Ray says, stroking his thumb on Nate's cheek, "you passed Snart's tests. This is the Rogues scent-marking you."

Okay. Creepy. "Um...what about―I mean, can I change back?"

"I think you can. You just have to refine the magic in you. It'll take a while, but I'll help you. We all will."

One of the wolves moves. It's a white wolf with black on the tips of its fur, and it's easily the largest, roughly the size of a pony. It lifts its head from where it was resting on another wolf of vivid red and brown near the end of the bed.

"Welcome to the pack," it says, and Nate knows that voice.

" _Sara_?" he hisses.

Sara gives him a wolfish grin. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm...hard, I guess. Wait, no, not like that! I just mean―"

The red and brown wolf snarls in its sleep, the pack stirring with it. Sara licks behind the wolf's ear until everyone settles again.

"Sorry," Nate whispers.

Sara props her chin back on the wolf. "Don't worry. Mick here's just grumpy because he had to carry you out."

Nate's eyes pop. "That's Mick Rory?"

The door in the far left corner pushes open, revealing a salt-and-pepper wolf of lunar silver eyes and a sardonic look that Nate recognizes on sight, despite only seeing Snart once in person and on TV when his eyes were covered.

Ray puts his cheek on his shoulder. "Pack Alpha's kinda hard to miss. It means initiation's working."

Snart huffs a greeting and jumps gracefully onto Mick's other side. Mick's eyes open halfway, only to close almost immediately after he sees who it is. Snart licks behind his other ear and presses against his side.

"Why isn't he talking?" Nate asks.

Ray says, "Because werewolves can't talk in their fur. And Sara," he adds at Nate's glance, "isn't exactly a werewolf."

Sara rumbles a quiet laugh. "What do you know about Celtic legend, Nate?"

"A lot," Nate says.

"So you know about the Morrigan?"

"...no way."

Sara winks. "I'm rebirth. I chose to take a wolf form on behalf of my mates."

"Ma―Captain Cold and Heatwave are in a threesome with the  _Morrigan_?!"

The pack groans and growls.

"I'm sorry, it's just a lot to process! Like, mafia is one thing, but  _Morrigan_? And if you're rebirth, who are the other two? What forms do they take? Wait, you have a  _sister_! DID THE MORRIGAN BREAK ME OUT OF JAIL?!"

"Oh great," a woman gripes, "there's two of them."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
